Buffy update (Patreon)

Buffy stood in the downstairs hallway, fresh from the shower and the make-up table. She wore her leather cuffs and her collar; other than that she was naked. It was making her more nervous than ever to see Willow, and her nervousness blended with anger as she scowled, thinking that she had Willow to thank for the sexual denial she’d experienced, for the imposition of her mother into what had been a perfectly below-average sex life. 

“Buffy, come on now, is that any way to greet our guest?” Joyce asked, coming in with some stray magazines she’d picked up. “Kneel down. Thighs spread, bottom on your ankles, and, ah, cross your hands behind your back.”

Buffy obeyed, finding Joyce returning once she’d set the magazines down in their tray. “Good! Hold that position. You want to make a good impression on Willow, don’t you?”

Buffy shook her head. “I just don’t want to make her angry. Is this really necessary?”

“Yes, Buffy, it is. It hurts to say it, but Willow is still your Mistress. Even if we’d both rather it be me, she won’t back down when she has the spell’s power on her side. So, until we can take that power away from her, we’ll just have to try and influence her, subtly. Part of that is having you make a good impression on her. Trust me and follow my lead, Buffy. Obey me. I know what I’m doing. You’ll just have to grit your teeth and bear it. Soon, I’ll be the only one who owns you. You’ll be my slave completely.”

Buffy gave a shaky, but thankful, smile upon hearing this. “Okay, Mom. I’ll do as you say.”

Joyce put her hand on Buffy’s shoulder. Concentrating, the small magic ring on her finger glowed. “Thank you for trusting me. Just one more little thing.” 

The thin leather collar around Buffy’s neck changed back into the wide posture collar that Willow had put there. Joyce let out an excited little gasp, seeing how easy it was when she wasn’t working against Willow’s wishes.

“We don’t want Willow to suspect anything,” Joyce said, taking the ring off her finger and putting it on her necklace. From there, she hid it under her blouse. 

Joyce patted Buffy’s hair and went to the kitchen to clean up. Buffy was left to sit by the door and try not to think about what was coming, except to remind herself that she had her mother to run interference for her now. She didn’t know how long she had to wait—the hallway clock had stopped working for some reason—but she seemed to spend ages there, just thinking of how her mother would protect her, not willing to consider any alternatives. Finally, Buffy heard the butch rumble of Oz’s fan pulling up to the curb. Joyce came out of the kitchen and went to the front door to look through the peephole.

“That’s Willow,” Joyce said. “Oz is driving her. And it seems she brought something big. I’d better go help her.”

She opened the front door and slipped out to do so. But she didn’t close the door behind her. Cracked open, it started to swing further inward, the gust of wind animating it also slipping into the house and sending a chill through Buffy’s naked flesh.

Buffy could only kneel there in horror as the door continued to swing; soon it entered the circle of her widespread legs, the light from outside washing over her right knee, her leg, her thigh. The skin prickled in the open air, exposed, exposed, exposed. Buffy clenched her hands into fists behind her back; soon the edge of the door would stop against her left thigh and her right breast, her boob, they would all be exposed to the outside world for all to see. 

Her eyes nervously traced the door’s steadily slowing path. She didn’t know what to do. She unclenched her hands, then fisted them again. Her legs twitched. Her ass wiggled on top of her feet. The door was just moving past her right thigh when she shot out her left hand and stopped it. Buffy panted lightly, unable to believe the panic she’d felt, and how unwilling she’d been to move from her prescribed position, even to spare herself humiliation. 

Slowly, as her heart sped down, she became aware of Joyce and Willow talking at the curb. She kept her hold on the door and covered her breasts with her right hand as she peeked over the side of the door. Her two mistresses—she didn’t know how she was living with knowing them that way—were waving goodbye to Oz as he drove off. Buffy’s heart continued to slow. She didn’t know why him being gone would make her calmer. Judging by experience, he would have a calming effect on Willow. But then, she’d never thought Willow would do all this to her in the first place. He might join in, for all she knew. And in either case, he’d see her like this, know what she had been through. It was bad enough that her mother knew. She didn’t think she could bear it if one of her friends did too.

Willow shouldered her big purse; both she and Joyce picked up something that looked like a mannequin and hauled it toward the house. With them on the way back, Buffy moved her head back, put her hands behind her back again, and hoped the door would stay where it was instead of letting the whole neighborhood see her in this exploitative position.

Joyce was the first to come through the door, carrying one end of the mannequin on her shoulder. She pushed open the door, either not knowing or not caring… she had to not know… that Buffy was there in the way. Buffy shuffled back on her knees while trying to adhere as rigidly to her posture as possible. Seeing her, Joyce gave her a quick smile, which did a lot to alleviate the flash of anger Buffy had felt at being momentarily exposed to the outside world. With Willow through the door, the front door resoundingly shut and Buffy let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. She’d thought it was horrible for Joyce and Willow to see her naked, but now at least it was only them.

“That’s a very good position for you, Buffy,” Willow said, lowering the mannequin and her bag to the floor. She sounded darkly amused. “Joyce, do you think guys like blowjobs so much because girls kneel down like that when they do them?”

“I’m sure Buffy wouldn’t know too much about that sort of thing,” Joyce said amicably. “Buffy, why don’t you welcome Willow properly?”

Buffy blinked, not understanding, until she saw Joyce’s finger was pointed out ramrod straight, subtly indicating Willow’s shoes. Bending forward with a supple undulation of her spine, Buffy carefully kept to her posture as she lowered herself to Willow’s feet and quickly kissed her shoes. Willow chuckled at the sight; Buffy hating her, but if anything would get her out of taking Willow in her ass again, she’d try it.

Buffy straightened, gazing up into Willow’s eyes and unable to stop thinking about how Willow’s view was what a guy would see as a girl went down on him. “Hello Mistress Willow,” she forced out.

“Hello slave,” Willow answered.

Buffy saw her mother cringe, and that little acknowledgment of how fucked up this all was did so much to lift Buffy’s spirits. “Willow, you know, that makes me a little uncomfortable.” Willow’s face fell and Joyce quickly added, “I’m alright with Buffy being a slave and… all this…” She gestured at Buffy’s naked body, still winningly displayed by her submissive positioning. “But I’ve always thought of Buffy as my baby, my little girl. And now, hearing her call you mistress, it’s like I’ve been pushed aside. She’s not my little girl anymore. She belongs to someone else. I know it’s silly, but do you think that Buffy could just call you by your name while I’m here? It would really set me at ease.”

“Why not?” Willow answered after a moment of conflict. “You’ve been really cool about what I’ve been doing with Buffy; if this helps you out the way you’ve helped me out, I’m fine with it.”

Mommy will protect me, Buffy found herself thinking again, as she had waiting before the door for her appointment with Willow… now no longer Mistress Willow, just Willow again, someone infinitely weaker, infinitely more possible to be defeated. Willow, Willow, Willow. Mommy will protect me.

“Buffy, will you get my luggage?” Willow asked, smiling widely. “Just take them up to your room.”

She and Joyce chatted leisurely as Buffy did as she’d asked. Up in her room, Willow further instructed her to put down the bag and lay the mannequin on the bed. Willow unzipped the bag, while Joyce gestured for Buffy to stand in front of the bed.

“Willow,” Joyce said, putting her right arm around Buffy’s shoulders. “I really like these leather cuffs. They’re very handy and you’ve done a wonderful job. But I’m afraid that have one tiny problem.”

“What would that be, Joyce?” Willow asked smilingly, clearly thinking they were perfect.

With her left hand, Joyce pointed to the various cuffs. “Well, you can’t remove them. There’s no zipper or anything.”

Willow frowned. “Isn’t that the point?”

With a little sighing smile, Joyce went to give Willow a quick hug. “Well, sometimes. It’s just… they’re perfect for a 24/7 slave, which Buffy isn’t.” Willow opened her mouth to correct her, but Joyce tightened the hug again, giving her pause. “I know you think Buffy is just that, but she isn’t. At least not yet. For now, Buffy has other obligations besides being your slave. There’s school, her Slayer duties, her household chores—the list goes on.” She pointed at Buffy’s posture collar. “You’re jumping the gun here.”

Willow nodded thoughtfully.

“And what if there’s an emergency?” Joyce continued. “I can’t take her to the doctor like this. Can you imagine the scandal? You’re in control of the spell, Willow, so you’re the only one who can remove these. I think you should do that now. Don’t you think so too, Willow?”

Willow nodded again, now totally convinced. “Yes, you’re right, Joyce.” She ran a hand over Buffy’s breasts, enjoying their bare pertness and their quiver at her touch once more. “I think I was so distracted by Buffy’s charms that I didn’t think this through. Thanks for pointing this out to me, Joyce.”

“You’re welcome, Willow.” Joyce reached out and took hold of Buffy’s breast herself, squeezing it gingerly. “Buffy is quite ‘charming,’ isn’t she?”

Buffy’s face with flushed with humiliation, and the stark surprise of being touched so intimately by her own mother, but she could endure it. Getting rid of these cuffs and the collar was worth being treated like Willow’s personal petting zoo.

Moving her hands to Willow’s wrist, Joyce gently guided them away from her daughter’s cleavage. “Would you like to do the honors, Willow?”

Willow smiled and nodded. “Of course, Joyce.” She fingered her pendant, looking at Buffy and those… appetizing restraints she’d dreamt up. They were a bit much, on closer reflection, but damn, were they appealing. “Uh, Joyce? What do you think is best?”

Joyce went behind Buffy, running a fingertip along her daughter’s cuffs. “I think it’d be best if you just made them disappear. They’re nothing special and you’ll probably decide on another design anyway once Buffy is truly yours. Graduation is just a few days away.” Willow nodded as Joyce’s fingers traveled over Buffy’s posture collar. “Now the collar… I’d keep it.”

Buffy’s eyes widened in surprise, but she felt her mother’s thumbs rubbing against her upper back, urging her to keep quiet, helping her to keep still. 

“It’s too nice and too useful to just throw away. These things aren’t cheap, you know. Just added a zipper in the back, a concealed one, hidden under a flap of leather with a tiny padlock for security.” Joyce looked at Willow zealously. “Can you do that?”

Willow grinned. “Of course.”

Concentrating, her pendant started to glow. The collar around Buffy’s neck easily took the change, but the multiple cuffs resisted Willow. She narrowed her eyes. She couldn’t get them to disappear; it was like the spell was fighting her. She pushed at the resistance she felt until, finally, they started to shimmer. But they didn’t vanish into nothingness. They turned into glowing circles of magic before seemingly disappear.

Willow imagined them sinking into Buffy’s flesh, under her skin, becoming a part of her. She gasped out loud at the mental image, so clear and vivid. Then she finally understood—she could’ve smacked herself. Those were the slave spell’s anchor points, making Buffy her puppet, hers to conduct.

Smiling, she gave Buffy’s knees a small tug outwards, just to test her theory. Her grin widened at the confused look on Buffy’s face.

Joyce was in the process of unbuckling the posture collar when she felt Buffy lurch sideways. “Stand still, Buffy,” she scolded.

Seeing the spell in action had been quite something for Joyce. She’d felt the collar change, seen the flap and zipper come into being, and the key to the tiny padlock had actually materialized in her hand. Joyce had then worked quickly to get the collar off Buffy, freeing her from its pressure on her neck. She put the posture collar on Buffy’s nightstand, the padlock and key into her own pants pocket. She’d find a safe place for them later.

Buffy was just relieved to have the restraints off her body. Stealthily, she drew her fingers over her wrists, reveling in feeling only the texture of her own skin. She would repeat the tactile sensation to herself whenever she got a spare moment—and whenever Willow wasn’t watching.

“Stand next to the bed,” Willow told her—she was watching now. “Right beside the mannequin.”

Joyce looked on in interest as Willow went about this new business. She firmly took hold of Buffy’s arm—Buffy slightly twitching when Willow’s hand touched her—and put her other hand lightly on top of the mannequin.

Willow closed her eyes. Soon the pendant was starting to glow, then one palm, and finally both. Joyce looked on calmly, at least on the outside, while Buffy was wide-eyed.

The mannequin was changing, just as the collar had. Its hard plastic shell became soft fabric, yielding to the touch, while the joints became pliant and supple instead of stiff and cumbersome. Joyce could see that it was still artificial: the skin had a cloth-like pattern with the color off from Buffy’s skin tone, and of course it had no head. But it really was an amazing feat of magic, like watching a masterful painting being done with Buffy as its subject. Amazed, Joyce stepped closer.

“Quite something, isn’t it?” Willow said, proud to show off her creation. “An extra replica of Buffy. Even the genitalia are true to life. Her labia, her clit, her pussy—you can even stick your finger inside. Same with the ass. Buffy, lie down next to it. Let’s show mommy how the new toy compares to the old one.”

Buffy obeyed, a look of misery on her face. She knew Joyce couldn’t intervene, yet she kept repeating her mantra anyway. Mommy will protect me, mommy will protect me, mommy won’t let it be too bad—will she?

“Feel her breasts,” Willow said, reaching out one hand to the doll’s and the other to Buffy’s. “Just as firm, just as soft—even just as warm!”

Joyce didn’t hesitate to copy Willow’s actions after she had moved aside, running her hand over Buffy’s sleekly sloping cleavage, as well as the puppet’s, squeezing one set, then the other. She could find no different in consistency between Buffy’s youthfully pert and perky tits and the replica Willow had created.

“Now try the pussy,” Willow said, rubbing her hand over the puppet’s sex. She pushed her fingers inside and the puppet’s labia actually seemed to resist and clench on them, giving way only reluctantly to the intrusion.

Joyce did the same thing; she had to admit, the pussy was nice and tight, even virginal. If it was an accurate simulation of Buffy, then her daughter had been a good girl indeed.

Willow had repeated her examination on Buffy’s groin, rubbing and reaching her fingers inside, Buffy’s face contorting as she became sick with pleasure. “Buffy has such a nice pussy,” Willow said. “Here. Feel. I think I got the mannequin exactly right.”

Joyce shook her head with a smile. “Willow,” she said gently, “Buffy is my daughter. But I can help you in other ways.”

Still smiling, she took hold of Buffy’s ankle, lifting her leg up and pulling it to the side to better expose Buffy’s sex for Willow’s perusal. Buffy couldn’t believe her mother, even as she told herself that this would’ve happened anyway and Joyce was just trying to make Willow trust her.

She felt the redhead’s wonderful, terrible fingers dive between her pussy lips. Buffy always got wet now when Willow started ordering her around, speaking in that commanding tone. It was like her body had been trained for it, that it knew she would be receiving orgasmic pleasure but not that it was unwanted.

Willow’s fingers slid into her cunt where they flicked up and down, smearing Buffy’s cream along her tender folds. Fingertips slid to her passage, circling the swollen opening, gradually working inside. First the tip of one finger went inside her. Buffy couldn’t help but moan. Stop it, she told herself. Your mother is right there! But nothing seemed able to stop her feverish arousal as it came over her, forced on her like the finger that was now thrusting in and out of her, sliding deeper with each hateful stroke that Buffy endured in ecstasy. With the aid of Buffy’s compulsory arousal, Willow’s slender finger buried itself inside her. Buffy grunted in expression of a feeling she couldn’t identify.

Willow’s finger pumped inside Buffy several times, filling her with conflicting emotions—the better the sensation, the guiltier Buffy felt for enjoying her. Finally, the finger pulled away, but Buffy felt no relief. It ran up her slit to her clitoris, flicking over it, then circling around it. The solitary finger was soon joined by others, and then Willow was using her whole hand to massage Buffy’s sex. Buffy’s breathing came faster; she tensed down harder on this feeling in her pussy that, like her arousal, was maliciously outside her. Her brain was clouding over with a fever that would soon be too confusing for her to think through. Then she would only feel.

Willow stopped short of that point. She wouldn’t let Buffy orgasm so easily. Instead, she stood up and took hold of Buffy’s other leg, holding it out of the way herself. Joyce was surprised, with slight irritation on her face.

Willow gestured to the glistening sex she had left for Joyce. “Come on. I know you’re her mom and everything, but surely a little check isn’t too weird.”

“I suppose you’re right, Willow,” Joyce shrugged. She looked into Buffy’s flushed face. “You don’t mind, do you, honey?”

Buffy returned a tortured smile. She reminded herself that they needed to appease Willow, that there could really only be one answer. “I don’t mind,” she whispered meagerly. 

Hearing Buffy choke out such a lackluster answer made Willow frown. She would’ve said something, but then Joyce touched her daughter’s pussy, gently massaging it with a deft touch that made Willow frankly envious.

Joyce’s fingers, sly and shockingly pleasurable, circled Buffy’s engorged clit. Her clitoris further swelled, as if desperate to be in contact with the tempting spirals of touch going around it. 

“You know, Willow, as a mother I worry sometimes. As our children grow, there are things we can’t check for fear of being… inappropriate. It really is nice to see that Buffy is such a healthy young woman.” One of Joyce’s fingers swabbed over Buffy’s clit, slowly, almost too slowly to be felt, just a steady pressure that idly changed its angle, not letting Buffy get used to it. “I can also see that Buffy is very much enjoying this. That she’s doing it out of her own free will. Really, if I had any doubts, they’re gone now.” Her finger traveled over Buffy’s clit again and again, always letting it pop back up more erectile than ever. Willow hummed in appreciation as she saw just how far Buffy’s taut clitoris stood up.

Indignity piled on top of indignity for Buffy. She’d almost gotten used to being forced to react this way to her torment, to not only feel this way but to be exposed in all her pleasure. But now her mother could see. Now Joyce knew what a slut she was.

Buffy clung tightly to the lining of her bed. Otherwise she’d have to try to smash her fist through Willow’s smiling face. And somewhere, deep down in her mind, she remembered her mother’s words from the other day. That she might want to be a slave. Joyce wasn’t wrong about that; she was rarely wrong about anything. If there weren’t some truth to Buffy possessing that… twisted desire, then her body wouldn’t so constantly betray her.

Unaware of or ignoring Buffy’s hitched breathing, Joyce smiled at Willow and left Buffy alone. Once more, Buffy was stopped short of an orgasm. Small tremors shook her lithe body as she suffered through the slow dwindling of the stimulation she’d felt. Her reddened face stared up at the ceiling as she fought her rampant arousal down, determined not to show anymore enjoyment in front of Willow than was possible.

If Willow weren’t there, it’d be different. As weird and creepy as Joyce touching her so intimately was, if it were just the two of them, this would almost be nice. Absent of Willow’s threats, with mother being gentle as always, and always ready to explain things… always so loving… this would be nice indeed.

Willow beamed at Joyce, unceremoniously letting go of Buffy’s leg. It dropped back down onto the bed, ripping Buffy out of her fantasies—if that was what they had been…

“Now Buffy, do me a favor,” Willow said. “Roll the puppet over onto its stomach for me and just spread its asscheeks. Joyce and I need to test it from behind.”

Buffy gulped, getting the idea of what would be happening to her next. Willow tried out the puppet’s anus, with Joyce following suit, almost pro forma. The real attraction had become playing with Buffy.

“Buffy,” Willow said commandingly, “turn around, put your ass in the air, and… oh, you know the rest.”

Buffy did as she asked. With trembling hands, she reached behind herself and spread her buttocks, exposing her tightly puckered asshole. Her face was not just flushed, but awash with sweat as she worried that Willow would be tempted into another go at sodomy. She could only hope Joyce’s presence would be a deterrent. Mommy will protect me…

Willow wasted no time. With Buffy’s asshole exposed, she filled it—but did not stretch it—with her forefinger. She slowly worked it in and out of Buffy, the Slayer feeling discomfort and enjoyment mixing inside her, both enhancing the other. She was ashamed of how good it felt, while the taboo just made it feel better.

“Did Buffy tell you she’d go back to virgin tightness after I’m done?” Willow asked Joyce.

“Yes,” Joyce said, looking on in interest, “she did tell me that.”

“You really should feel for yourself.” Willow took her finger out of Buffy’s ass and got off the bed. “Go on. I’ve barely stretched her.”

Willow was surprised to see Joyce take her up on the offer, sitting down behind Buffy on the bed without any further convincing. Her surprise must have been plain to see, for Joyce said “It’s just like when Buffy was young. When she had a fever, I had to check her temperature. Only now I’m using my finger instead of a thermometer.”

“I suppose,” Willow said. “But of course, if you’re really going to stretch Buffy’s ass, you can’t just use one finger. You’ll have to give her at least three.”